


Psychotic

by kweengrassi (inkyjoon)



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Blood and Torture, Depression, F/M, Hurt Scott Hoying, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mitch is fucked up, Not Happy, Obsessive Mitch Grassi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Serial Killer, This is kind of fucked, Torture, hostage, mentioned eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkyjoon/pseuds/kweengrassi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scott Hoying picked up that strange man from the road, he never thought this would happen. </p>
<p>Mitch Grassi is an infamous serial killer who escaped from his captivity. When Scott picks him up, he immediately latches on to him and decides to make him his toy. </p>
<p>Now Scott's trapped and things are going to get a little bloody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Wattpad, phenomabombs.

The alarms pierced the air as the security guards struggled to keep the patients tamed. The patients weren't having that, fighting until their hands were bloody from both their blood and their victim's. No one wanted to be stuck in this hellhole any longer. Smoke began to billow into the large room, causing more panic to arise as everyone fought to get outdoors away from the toxic billow.

And standing there in the midst of the havoc, calm and still, was a man.

The man was, to most, if not all, handsome. He was tall and slim, every bit of his defined, despite the shapeless white uniform all the patients were required to wear. The uniform consisted of a one piece jumpsuit that hung off his shoulder, revealing a sharp, curved collar bone. His uniform was decorated with splashes of crimson, he applied himself. His nose was long and straight, only slightly crooked from abuse to the bone. Stubble covered his defined jaw, reaching up until it was just barely brushing his cheekbone and arching over his upper lip. His dark eyes scanned the seething crowd like a cold, soulless lamp and his thin, pale pink lips curved up into a tight, pleased smile. He had caused all of this, riling the patients up and getting them to rebel.

The man's eyes shifted to his wrists and he frowned with disdain. He lifted his wrists and stared at the handcuffs on them. It offended him that the staff here thought that the mere pieces of metal could keep him tamed. He scoffed and shook his wrists gently, testing the tightness for the third time that night. The metal clanged together and he shrugged. Glancing around for another security guard, he glided to the reception desk and braced himself. His teeth clenched and he began to pull, jerking his left hand around.

A sickening crack filled the air and a pained hiss escaped past his teeth. Tears sprang to the man's eyes, causing an uncomfortable burn, but he refused to let them shed. His hand, now slick with blood, slid out of the handcuff easily. A sigh of relief whooshed past his lips and he brushed his dark fringe back out of his face.

He hurried over to the entrance, walking briskly, trying to be inconspicuous. It worked. For a few minutes.

"Someone grab Grassi!" He heard someone shout, causing him to swear softly. Fuck this, he thought and began sprinting, weaving expertly through the mass with the agility of a dancer. A bauling woman collapsed into his path, screaming incoherent sentences. He halted to avoid tripping over her body just as a heavy body rammed into his back.

Grassi's legs buckled under the extra weight and he collapsed, crying out with pain as his injured wrist smacked the ground with another loud snap. He gritted his teeth and maneuvered his body, flipping over and staring at the sneering face of the security guard.

A wide smile broke Grassi's usually stoic face, which caused the guard to falter with uncertainty. Grassi hooked his leg around the other man's and twisted it. The guard yelped as he lost balance, landing in a disoriented heap besides him.

Grassi giggled and slipped away, pushing himself up with his uninjured arm. He gracefully got to his feet and brushed away imaginary dust. Smirking down at the confused man, he bent at his waist and stared him straight in the eye.

"Goodnight," He whispered and swiftly kicked the man in the nose, driving the nasal bone up into his brain, killing him instantly. The guard crumpled to the ground lifelessly, as if he was asleep.

Grassi's face formed a pout. His death was much too quick for him, and it pained him that the man didn't get to suffer. He sighed and turned on his heel, continuing his persistent mission. The glass doors slid open silently and he was welcomed with a blast of cold, fresh air and unfortunately, rain.

Shaking his head with disappointment, Grassi looked down the long drive and wrinkled his nose. He had a long way to go until he got back to town. With one last fleeting glance over his shoulder, Grassi began to sprint down the long drive, the sheets of icy rain slapping him in the face repeatedly. He breathed slowly to conserve his oxygen, as he wasn't planning to stop for a good amount of time.

Sirens continued to ring behind him, but he didn't look back. He was finally free.

And he was ready to reunite his city with his kiss of death.

 

Scott Hoying was late. Again. An annoyed growl left his lips as he pressed down on the gas pedal. Rain pelted against the windshield of his beaten car, the droplets illuminated by the car's headlights. Trees lined the road leading into town, looking like massive, gangly giants reaching for the clouds.

Scott leaned forward, his pale blue eyes squinting as he struggled to see. He didn't feel like running over another animal again. He shuddered. The last time he accidently murdered a poor creature, - it was a squirrel he mentally named Jerry- he was traumatized for days. Rest in peace, Jerry.

He sighed and sank against the leather cushions of his seat, letting his entire body relax. He wasn't going to get there in time, so why stress? He bit his lip and briefly glanced in the rearview mirror. A black shadow darted up past his car and he tilted his head. Maybe it was a bird? He shrugged mutely and continued to drive.

Several minutes past and Scott was beginning to get bored. He turned his gaze to the radio and switched it on. Almost immediately, the soft, powerful voice of Beyonce filled the car. "Pretty hurts..." He sang along with her, his heart humming with love for the female vocalist. He returned his gaze to the road and slammed on his breaks. The tires slipped on the wet asphalt, almost causing him to spin out of control. The white beams bounced around the highlighted silhouette of a man standing just mere inches away from the hood of the car.

The man was breathtaking, in Scott's opinion. Water droplets dripped down his sharp facial features, outlining each curve and dip. His dark hair was plastered to his ivory skin, which contrasted perfectly. The man looked like an angel.

Scott's heart hammered painfully against his ribs. The look in the man's eyes scared him. The obsidian irises looked... dead. He shook the thought out of his head and unlocked the door, extending his long legs to step out.

"Hey, do you need help?" Scott's voice was filled with concern for the other man. The silent man's eyes slid over to the tall man and he nodded shortly. Scott bit his lip. "Well, get on in. I can bring you into town." Scott smiled warmly. The smile was not returned. Slowly, the man in the road walked over to the passenger's side of the vehicle and slid in, not caring that he was soaking the leather seats.

Scott made a face and got back into the car. He wiped off some excess water and began driving once more. "So, what's your name?" He asked politely, briefly glancing over.

The man didn't say anything; he just stared silently ahead, almost like he didn't hear the question. His lips parted and a mellifluous floated out of his lips, causing shivers to run down Scott's spine.

"My name is Mitch," The man said simply, leaving no room for discussion.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott pulled up to the apartment complex and turned off the car, the dull roar silencing immediately. His gaze shifted over to the silent man. Mitch, he reminded himself. "Do you want me to call anyone?" He asked, tilting his head, his eyes twinkling with kindness.

Mitch turned his head and stared at him, frowning slightly. "No. No one's expecting me." The man's voice held hidden humor, a cynical kind that sent shivers of unease down Scott's spine. Mitch's aura threw Scott for a loop. He looked innocent, but he wasn't quite sure if he was.

"O-oh. Okay. Do you have a place to stay?" Scott asked, fixing his eyes on the concrete wall just feet away. There was no answer for a few moments.

"No."

Scott cringed and glanced at him. Jesus Christ, could anyone add more anger and hatred into such a simple word. "Okay... you can sleep in the guest room if you want." He suggested softly, looking at his lap.

Mitch chuckled and finally turned his head towards the man, fixating his gaze on his face for the first time since the pair met. Instantly, Scott's cheeks colored at the unexpected attention. "That would be lovely." The dark haired man purred, his voice as smooth as silk, wrapping around Scott in a lovely embrace.

The blonde man nodded and swallowed awkwardly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Okay." He whispered and mentally scolded himself for sounding like a teenage girl who finally got her crush to notice her. Another chuckle erupted from Mitch, the sound sounding much darker than before.

Unable to take the awkward atmosphere, Scott leaped from the vehicle. Heat creeped down his neck and he smacked his forehead. "Stupid, stupid." Now Mitch would know that he rattled the tall man's nerves. A sigh slipped through his lips and he shook his head. He composed himself and leaned down. "You comin'?" He asked, his lips curving up into a pleasant smile.

Mitch was staring at his lap, extending and clenching his fists slowly, muttering incoherent sentences to himself. At the sound of Scott's voice, he tensed before relaxing, tension visibly melting away from his shoulders. "Yes, of course." He affirmed before slipping out of the car. He rounded the back and stood beside Scott. Scott's eyes dropped down and he cocked his head at the sight of his bare, bloodied feet.

"Where are your shoes?" He questioned stupidly. Mitch lowered his head to stare at them, the emotions in his eyes dancing between nothing and anger. Finally, his shoulders loosened and he shrugged.

"Can we go inside now?" He inquired boredly, returning to stare at Scott. Scott blushed and nodded, backing up.

"Y-yes." The blonde man cringed at the stutter and mentally rolled his eyes. He sounded like a child. Honestly, he was embarrassed for himself.

Mitch didn't seem to notice, tapping his foot against the concrete impatiently, staring at a point with an intense glare, causing goosebumps to go down Scott's spine. Something about the young man bothered him; the aura he gave off was cold... dangerous.

He shook it off and rushed to the front door of the complex, holding it open. Mitch briefly glanced over at Scott and smirked, shaking his head.

This would be too easy.

Mitch's face breaks into a smile and he strode over, his feet seeming to barely brush the ground. His thin arms swung gently at his sides, propelling his in a fluid motion. The brunette's loose clothes swayed around him, clinging to the man at all the right moments. Mitch reached up and brushed away his fringe, releasing a small puff of air. Scott was in awe, his rosy lips parted. He gulped and looked away, a blush blemishing his cheeks.

Mitch arched a brow and smirked, noticing the taller man's reaction. Scott found him attractive. Perfect. He bit a lip and looked him over. He could definitely use that to his advantage. Mitch brushed past him, their skin kissing each other with a feather-like touch. He heard Scott release an almost inaudible sigh as he followed him in.

"Follow me." Scott moved past Mitch and waved his hand, gesturing towards the elevator. Mitch rose an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder, padding after him silently. Scott pressed the button and nibbled on a hang nail, checking the time. He was fifteen minutes late. They would hopefully understand. Anxiety clenched his stomach, but he kept a straight face, refusing to show his discomfort around the stranger.

The elevator announced its arrival and the sleek, metal doors slid open with a soft whir of machinery. A couple stepped out and Scott quickly stepped in, instinctively holding a hand up between the doors. After Mitch got in, he lowered his hand and pressed the button with the large three on it and leaned back against the railing.

"So, where did you come from?" Scott asked after a few moments of silence.

Mitch lifted his eyes and gave him a blank look, making Scott's face flame.

"Oh, that was rude. I mean, y'know, where were you coming from when your car broke down?"

"That wasn't better. It was just more specific."

"Oh... sorry."

Mitch rolled his eyes and turned back to the doors, tapping his foot impatiently. Scott swallowed and looked down, playing with the hem of his shirt. He lifted his wrist to his face and sighed at the time. Eighteen minutes late.

"I don't have a car."

Scott started at the sudden noise and looked over, raising an eyebrow. "Then, how did you get so far out of town?" He asked with confusion. He stared at Mitch, barely noticing the angry tick that formed just under his right eye.

"I walked." Mitch replied, keeping his voice steady. Scott cocked his head and nodded.

"Oh... okay."

The pair fell into an uncomfortable silence, Scott being more so than the small brunette. Within minutes, the two were in Scott's apartment.

Scott shut the door behind him and turned around to look at Mitch. The thought that this was possibly the worse thing he could of done finally came to his mind and he frowned. "I have to head out, I'm sorry." He murmured, his baby blue eyes meeting Mitch's coffee colored ones.

Mitch raised an eyebrow at the older man's stupidity and nodded slowly. "You don't have to apologize." He grunted, turning so his back was to him. He observed the room the two were currently occupying, a bare foot tapping the hard wood floor silently.

The apartment was very... plain, though it had a modern twist to it. The walls were a striking white, only a couple of framed photographs hanging up on them. The flooring was a dark hardwood, matching the few pieces of furniture placed neatly around the room. There didn't seem to be a thing out of place; everything was much too clean for the young man. Mitch wrinkled his nose and turned his head, watching Scott out of the corner of his eye.

Scott rubbed his arm awkwardly and bit his lip. "I should be back in a couple of hours. Uh, make yourself at home, I guess." He said softly, frowning as he thought about what he had. Nothing was here that he would miss, if Mitch decided to steal something. He sighed and offered Mitch a smile. "I'll see you soon." He quickly backed out of the apartment and shut the door.

As soon as he was out of the hallway, he leaned against the wall and let out a loud breath of air, tension leaking away from his shoulders. With a shake of his head, Scott made his way through the building back to his car. He slid in and quickly sped off to the meeting he was supposed to be at...

Scott glanced at his watch and groaned loudly. He was supposed to be there thirty minutes ago.

His mother was going to kill him.

 

Mitch checked out the apartment, noting every little place the large man could hide successfully. He hummed softly to himself and opened a door, only to find it was the bathroom. How anticlimactic. The man shrugged and shut the door, making his way to the kitchen.

He opened all the cabinets, looking for one thing. Knives. His lips twitched at the corner as he thought about holding the familiar, lethal object in his hands once again. He stopped, biting his lip as he thought about what exactly he was going to do to Scott.

Mitch's eyes shut as he imagined each individual incision into Scott's creamy skin, envisioning the ruby ribbons snaking around his body and painting the ground. He thought about how Scott would sound sobbing in pain, begging for mercy. Mitch decided he wouldn't give it to him. He liked Scott.

Maybe he was a screamer. A shudder shook Mitch's entire body with pleasure.

He loved it when they screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

The front door unlocked and Scott stepped in, quickly taking off his coat. He tossed it onto the table beside the front door and kicked off his shoes. A loud sigh escaped his lips and he shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing a glass to get water. As soon as the glass was filled with water from the tap, he whirled around, nearly dropping his glass with fright. 

Mitch was watching him silently, raising an eyebrow at his reaction. Scott pressed a hand to his chest, as if that would calm his rapidly beating heart, and groaned. 

"I forgot you were here," Scott mumbled, walking over and smiling warmly. His baby blue eyes scanned the apartment, trying to determine whether or not something was missing. Seeing nothing, he turned back to Mitch and let his smile grow. 

Mitch curled his lip and rolled his eyes. "I didn't take anything." He snarled, his tone sending icy tendrils down Scott's spine. Scott's eyes widened and he held up his free hand. 

"S-sorry." Mitch just glared at him and sat down on the couch, folding his long legs elegantly. Scott stared at him nervously and went to sit on the recliner adjacent to it. After a few moments of silence, Scott spoke up once again. "What did you do while I was gone?" He asked, turning to stare at the man. The corners of Mitch's mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. 

"I just looked around... I hope that was okay?" He suddenly met Scott's eyes, causing the large man to flinch at the attention. 

"Uh..." Scott faltered, trying to regain his thoughts. "Yeah, of course." He mumbled. He turned his gaze to his lap and played with the hem of his shirt. 

The two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Mitch spoke up. "Can you get me something to eat?" Scott blinked, the question taking a few seconds to process. When it finally did, he nodded rapidly, much to Mitch's amusement. 

"Yeah! I-I mean, of course." He struggled to recover, his cheeks a lovely rosy color. Scott stood and rubbed the back of his neck. "Anything you wanted in particular?" He asked, turning his gaze back to Mitch, who wasn't even paying attention to him. 

The small man was silent for a few seconds before he looked up quickly. "I don't care." Mitch murmured and leaned back, shutting his eyes. Scott hovered for a few more moments before he backed away, heading into the kitchen. 

As soon as Scott left, Mitch opened his eyes, straining his hearing to make sure he wasn't coming back. He sat still for a few moments before standing, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. His hand snaked between the couch cushions, bumping against the cool handle of his weapon of choice. His lips curled upwards into a cruel smirk as he wrapped his long fingers around the handle and pulled it out. 

Mitch placed the knife on his lap and looked toward the kitchen, where he could hear Scott moving around. It pleased him about how eager Scott was to serve him. He bit his lip, feeling tingles of pleasure. He loved it when they were submissive. 

The small man slowly got to his feet and padded to the entrance to the kitchen, holding the knife behind his back carelessly. He leaned against the wall and watched the man, his lips parting as his face relaxed. The aroma of the cooking food got to his nose and he shivered, his stomach releasing an embarrassing growl. Mitch struggled to remember the last time he ate something. Was it yesterday? Or maybe it was Wednesday? He didn't know and he didn't care.

Scott continued to move around, humming softly to himself. Eventually he turned around and immediately released a small shriek of fright. Mitch raised an eyebrow, but stepped into the kitchen, keeping the knife hidden behind his back. Scott cleared his throat, flushing. 

"I was going to bring the food out to you. It's almost done." He muttered, biting his lip.

Mitch shrugged and sat down at one of the stools at the counter, placing his knife on his lap out of Scott's line of eyesight. "That won't be necessary." He paused, as if realizing how sinister that sounded. Inside, he didn't give a shit, but on the outside, he pretended to look stunned. Mitch met Scott's eyes and plastered on a painfully fake smile. 

Bitches loved smiles, right?

Apparently so, he thought as Scott's entire face flamed. His eyes dropped to the ground and he muttered something ineligible before shuffling back to the food. 

Mitch smirked and ran his fingertips over the blade resting in his lap. His brown eyes flickered to the front door and he tilted his head, measuring the distance with his eyes. He turned his gaze back to Scott and narrowed his eyes, eyeing his legs. They were long, much longer than his. 

But Mitch enjoyed a challenge. 

Within a few more moments, Scott was dishing the stir-fry out onto a plate and placing it on the counter before Mitch. The blonde man rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I made you some stir-fry..." He began awkwardly. "There's plenty left in case you want more." His face split into a happy grin, startling Mitch. 

Anger and disgust clenched his heart and he fought back the desire to stab Scott in the throat. Instead, Mitch dipped his head in acknowledgement, picked up the fork, speared a piece of broccoli and placed it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Scott leaned forward, watching his reaction with bated breath. In all reality, the food was disgusting, in Mitch's opinion. It reminded him of ash, but he smiled and swallowed. 

"Delicious."

Scott beamed and folded his arms behind his back. "Thank you!" He chirped and tilted his head. Mitch watched him, keeping his face void of emotion. This was a peculiar man, he realized with sick fascination. He couldn't wait to break him.

Mitch continued to eat, taking small, dainty bites- a habit he picked up on in the asylum- until half the plate was gone. He felt uncomfortably full at this point and pushed the plate away, getting to his feet. 

Scott had gone into the living room while he was eating to watch some television, his departing words including the word "Beyonce". Mitch wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife and padded into the living room, placing his feet on the ground with precision to avoid making noise. Excitement bubbled up in his stomach, squeezing and twirling around his insides to the point where it felt almost unbearable. He refrained from letting out a happy clap as he stood behind Scott.

A loud, obnoxious siren went off, interrupting whatever Scott was watching. A grim-faced women appeared on the screen, as well as a picture of Mitch. "Serial killer, Mitch Grassi, has escaped Diamond Heart Mental Hospital." She began. Mitch snorted internally. They made the place sound like a paradise with the title. "In the midst of a patient uprising, Grassi managed to slip out, killing a guard in the process. A few others reported he was injured, though we cannot be too sure." Mitch glanced down at himself and shrugged. He forgot he was actually in pain. 

"If you see Grassi, please immediately call the police and keep your distance. He is dangerous and is not to be taken lightly. Thank you, and please enjoy your evening."

Mitch kept his breaths shallow, adjusting so they matched each of Scott's inhales. He lifted the knife, his mouth salivating, eager to see the crimson liquid he loved so dearly drip down the man's skin. The contrast would be absolutely divine. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed the tip of the knife against the side of Scott's throat, where the artery was. One slice and it would be over. 

Scott sharply inhaled and held his breath, his shoulders tensing. Mitch could practically smell his anxiety and fear already. His mouth, resting beside Scott's left ear, parted, and a sinister laughter escaped. "Don't be scared, baby." He purred, moving the knife slightly so when he jumped, the blade didn't embed itself deep into his throat. "I won't kill you yet." 

Scott whimpered low in his throat and gulped, staring at the screen, his face pale and his eyes wide with horror. Only he would be idiotic enough to pick up a serial killer. If only he wasn't so goddamn nice. 

Keeping the knife at Scott's throat, Mitch rounded the couch and smirked at him. Scott's eyes dropped down, observing his limbs. For the first time that night, he realized that Mitch's left hand dangled loosely at his side at an awkward angle, definitely broken. Scott lifted his eyes back to Mitch's and immediately flinched at the icy stare he was giving him. 

Mitch clicked his tongue and squatted down. "You are quite handsome, Scott." He murmured, tilting his head. He bit his lip before a wide grin crossed his face. It was borderline psychotic, almost making Scott piss himself with fear. "I'm going to keep you for a long, long time." Mitch moved the knife and gently scraped it against the skin on his cheek. "Do you want to be my favorite, Scott?"

Scott didn't know how to respond. Of course he didn't. Who in their right mind would? But he didn't dare say no. He just nodded slightly, not trusting himself to not reply in a shaky voice. Mitch's face hardened and with a quick flick of his wrist, slashed Scott's cheek open. Scott shouted in pain, his hands shooting up to cradle his wounded cheek, beginning to panic as blood stained his fingers. 

"Answer me with words, sweetie." 

Scott nodded rapidly. "I want to be your favorite." He whispered, his cheek screaming in protest as he spoke. He felt like bursting into tears; he has always been quite sensitive. He swallowed as Mitch beamed and stood up, patting his head. 

"Good." Mitch purred and left the room, leaving Scott to his own thoughts. 

What the hell was he going to do?


End file.
